Page 117 of Throne Off Course

Then, quietly, he said, “But I did underestimate you.”

Harper’s eyes snapped back to his, surprised by the admission.

“I thought—hell, I don’t know what I thought. That you’d get over it? That you’d take the hit and move on? But you didn’t.” His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “You got better.”

Harper held his stare, her pulse thrumming with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

“You don’t get to make that sound like a compliment,” she replied with irritation.

Sebastian smiled faintly. “It wasn’t. A journalist like you makes things infinitely more complicated for me. But then… I do like a challenge.”

She sighed. The anger was still there, simmering under her skin, but mixed with something else. Something more complicated.

“You know, you really suck at apologies,” she muttered.

He shrugged. “Okay, well for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replied with amusement.

She took a sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. “But I will take satisfaction in the fact that Lord Hawthorne will lose his mind if he knows you are helping Alexander stage a royal rebellion.”

Sebastian agreed. “Now that is a bonus.”

Harper eyed Sebastian over the rim of her glass, her sharp gaze dissecting every smirk, every flicker of amusement, every trace of whatever was brewing between them.

He’d finally admitted it—after years of smug superiority, underhanded moves, and one very personal betrayal, he had finally said the words: I’m sorry.

And damn it, that should have been satisfying. It should have been a victory. Instead, it left her off balance, like stepping onto what she thought was solid ground, only to find it shifting beneath her.

Sebastian, for his part, looked perfectly at ease, lounging against the bar like they weren’t wading through years ofunresolved tension.

Harper set her glass down with a clink. “You know, most people would actually grovel when apologizing.”

Sebastian met her gaze evenly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And that would be terribly out of character for me.”

“God forbid you show remorse.”

“I show it in my own way.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “For example, I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Harper arched a brow. “Oh god, what kind of Faustian bargain is this?”

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t trade in souls, Sinclair. That’s Lord Hawthorne’s line of business.”

Harper snorted, fighting back a genuine laugh despite herself. She reached across the table to give his arm a light, almost playful shove.

“Right, because you’re the more benevolent villain.” She studied his face for a moment, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his jawline. “Okay, so what is it you want?”

Sebastian swirled his whiskey lazily, watching the golden liquid catch the light. “You love digging for the truth, Sinclair. And I—” he paused, eyes glinting—“I know exactly where the bodies are buried.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“And I think it’s time we start working together instead of against each other.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “We make a hell of a team, you know.”

Harper scoffed. “Based on what?”

“Mutually assured destruction,” he said smoothly. “You’re the only person who’s ever come close to ruining me. And, well—” he tilted his glass in her direction—“I already got in your way once. Imagine what we could do if we actually combined forces.”